


Through the Looking Glass

by TenaciousMe



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alice is a good bro, Body switch/swap, But it will all turn out ok, Drug Use, For reasons ok, Hey, M/M, Mosaic Feels, Not really compliant with any canon after the first few eps, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Romance?, Suicidal Thoughts, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:49:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenaciousMe/pseuds/TenaciousMe
Summary: S1 wackiness as Quentin and Penny swap bodies.





	1. Welcome to Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome to Wonderland, Q,” and Eliot was suddenly right there, leaning in close to top up Quentin’s drink.
> 
> Quentin started. “What?”
> 
> “You’re adorable,” said Eliot, unable to repress a smile. “It’s tonight’s theme."

“Quentin Coldwater!” 

Quentin looked up from where he sat hunched beneath a tree, trying to wrap his head around Popper’s Practical Exercises and mostly failing. It was a glorious Indian summer day, soporific with heat and not conducive to studying at all, but Quentin refused to flunk out of his first semester of magic school, even if all he wanted to do right now was sleep, here on the fragrant lawn of Brakebills on this sunny afternoon.

Of course, Eliot Waugh wouldn’t know anything about that. Here he came now, sauntering like he owned the place, the gorgeous and terrifying Margo Hanson on his arm. The two of them were grinning, as always, as if the world were a private joke known only to them. 

Eliot tossed something onto the book open on Quentin’s lap, obscuring the eye-straining diagrams of Popper 5.

Quentin flipped the object up and turned it over, muscle memory making the ID before his brain could catch up. The King of Hearts, artful calligraphy edging the margins of the card. An invitation.

“Feel the Love!” Quentin read. “9pm - The Cottage - Let’s Get Physical! Um. What’s...this for?"

“All work, and no play, Q,” said Eliot, shaking his head in mock concern.

“It’s a party,” Margo clarified. “Tonight. At the cottage. Blow off some of those stress hormones I can feel from all the way over here. You’re starting to get frown lines, and it’s only your first month. You have to learn to play the long game, Quentin, and that means...”

“The cocktails will be fabulous, if I do say so myself,” said Eliot, “And one of the third years gave me a recipe for canapés that will blow your mind.”

“Thanks,” Quentin said, ducking his head so his hair hid his eyes, flipping the card over, then over again to have something to do with his hands. 

The last party he had attended, that semi-disastrous graduation party that Julia and James had thrown for him in New York, had been a dismal affair. He’d been trying so hard not to look like a guy who had just checked himself out of a mental hospital. And he never could get into the spirit of these things anyway. 

He felt better here, now, _goodbye to all that_ and all that, but he was also feeling a just a tad unmoored. Crowds could be a bit much when he was like this, and the thought of going to a party stirred a familiar unpleasant feeling, like an itch in his brain. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone off his antidepressants so quickly. 

“So, you’ll be there?” Eliot was all effortless charisma and teasing eyes, and Quentin wanted more than anything to _want_ to go, to just be casually ok like everyone else. But sometimes being casually ok took a lot of painstaking work. 

“Um, yeah. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding Eliot’s gaze. “Maybe? Parties are actually kind of stressful sometimes. For me.”

Margo tilted her head, appraising him with a look that was cool but not unkind.

“Ask one of your little friends to come with,” she suggested. “Your hot roomie, or that cute blonde you’re always mooning after, the one with the tits. Bring her if you want.”

“Or don’t,” said Eliot. 

“Or don’t,” Margo agreed. “But do come.”

~~~

_Quentin!_

Fractals. Colors tessellating kaleidoscopically before his eyes. Quentin laughed in wonder. It was like the beauty of all life had been there all along, revealing itself now only to him, here on the ceiling of this particular bedroom in the Physical Kids’ cottage. 

Quentin reached out to touch it, and his fingers left shimmering trails in the air. He waved his hands, and the colors refracted into sparks that rearranged themselves into patterns. Oh, right! How had he forgotten? The test. The revelation from Dean Fogg. Quentin felt dizzy with knowledge. Magic was real!

Wait, no. Or rather, yes, magic was real. But this, right here, right now, with the dizziness and the prismatic glory of the ceiling folding itself into a mosaic only he could see? 

Quentin was high as fuck.

“Oh, wow,” Quentin muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and the colors dissipated a bit, along with most of the lightheadedness. 

_Where are you, Quentin?_

__

Now he could hear the sound of voices and laughter coming from downstairs, floating over the insistent throb of a dance beat. He couldn't have been out for long, if the party was still going strong. No one had thought to check on him yet. 

__

Quentin had come to the party alone. He had tried to ask Alice, the only person he knew from class aside from his irritable roommate, Penny. But Alice had brushed past his flustered stammering with a barely restrained eyeroll and a brusque “Sorry, I have work to do,” before turning back to say, “I mean, thanks for the invitation, Quentin, but I just wouldn’t feel comfortable hanging out with your friends” and then rushing off, looking for all the world as if she wanted to break into a run, shoulders hunched against his protestations, a stack of books clutched protectively over her chest. Afterwards, Quentin had nearly talked himself out of coming at all. 

__

Finally, after exhausting himself arguing the pros and cons in his head for over an hour, Quentin rolled out of bed and went down to the Physical Kids’ cottage. In doing so, he managed for the first time in his life to be fashionably late instead of awkwardly early. Thanks, social anxiety! 

__

Eliot, tending the bar, had simply beamed at him, and for a moment, all that anxiety was gone. There was only Eliot, hair tousled, shirtsleeves pushed up to the elbows, eyes locked on Quentin as if he were the only person in the room.

__

“Q!” Eliot shouted over the din. “Get over here! Have a drink! I was afraid we scared you off.”

__

Quentin pushed his way to the bar and accepted the proffered cocktail. It was a fancy looking thing; the glass was chilled, and there was a sprig of some sort in it. Quentin took a cautious sip followed by a large gulp. Whatever it was, it was delicious, icy and citrus and herbal, with just a hint of sweetness. 

__

It also packed quite a kick. 

__

“I’m braver than I look,” Quentin said, as the alcohol, or maybe something in Eliot’s eyes, loosened something inside him, making him bold. 

__

“Mmm, Quentin Coldwater, man of hidden depths,” said Eliot, clearly amused as all hell, “I like it.” 

__

Quentin smiled back, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and trying to catch his breath. He was bolder but no more suave. 

__

“So, ah…” he said, looking around for the first time at the Cottage, magically decked within an inch of its life with sparkling lights and baubles fashioned out of mirrors and playing cards. For a moment, he thought he saw his roommate Penny reflected in one of the ornaments, engaged in intense conversation with a dark haired girl. 

__

“Welcome to Wonderland, Q,” and Eliot was suddenly right there, leaning in close to top up Quentin’s drink. 

__

Quentin started. “What?”

__

“You’re adorable,” said Eliot, unable to repress a smile. “It’s tonight’s theme." He tutted theatrically, and the miniature mirrorballs began to spin in time to the music, reflecting tiny, dancing squares of light onto the walls and ceiling. “Wonderland. Through the Looking Glass.” 

__

Quentin, entranced, took another sip of his drink. It was still chilled. A lacy pattern of frost on the glass caught the light from the ornaments. It must all be enchanted, he thought. Quentin felt enchanted too. 

__

“El! We’re running of of drinks here!”

__

Eliot sighed. “Sorry,” he breathed into Quentin’s ear. “My insatiable public awaits. Coming!” this he addressed to the growing line at the bar, but for a moment, he turned his gaze back on Quentin. “You should eat something, Q,” he said gravely, those teasing, bottomless eyes sounding the depths of Quentin’s soul. “You shouldn’t have any more than two of those,” he nodded toward the drink in Quentin’s hand, which was definitely not trembling at all, “on an empty stomach. You’re looking a little flushed.” And then he turned back to the crowd. 

__

“EAT ME” urged the sign over a large platter of finger foods, and who was Quentin to argue? He obligingly popped a square of herbed pastry into his mouth. 

__

“Oh my god,” he muttered around a mouthful of savory goodness. How could anything taste this good? It was a literal flavor explosion, like he was actually tasting sparks and colors. No, wait. He _was_ tasting sparks and colors. Hearing sparks and colors. Feeling them. Oh.

__

Quentin vaguely remembered stumbling upstairs into an empty bedroom and collapsing onto the carpet, enthralled and enraptured by the beauty of it all. 

__

Right. So that’s how he got here, tripping on the floor of some stranger’s bedroom, only now coming back to time and space. Mercifully, no one was around to see him like this. 

__

Slowly, using the bed for support, Quentin pulled himself into a standing position and leaned heavily against the bedpost. From there, he took a few deep breaths and took stock. He felt fine, if still a bit strange. His perspective felt a bit wonky. His arms and legs didn’t feel quite like his own.

__

Still, no headache or nausea. Whoever drugged those appetizers really _must_ be a magician. 

__

_We’re waiting for you, Quentin_

__

It dawned on Quentin that he should get back to the party before someone wandered by and found him trespassing in some upperclassperson’s bedroom. He peered around nervously at the thought. It was a nice bedroom, fairly large. There was a lot of soft, rich fabric in warm colors and lovely, intricate patterns. On the dresser sat a half finished glass of whiskey and a journal opened to a page of the same graceful script he'd seen on the invitation earlier. 

Quentin took another deep breath. Spice and citrus. Herbal, with just a hint of sweetness. This had to be Eliot’s room. 

Quentin involuntarily closed his eyes and breathed in Eliot’s scent. There was _something_ about Eliot, wasn’t there? Some kind of nascent spark. Quentin had been depressed for so long, locked in a struggle with his own brain chemistry, that he hadn’t had the chance to look up and meet someone’s eyes and make an emotional connection in months. Now, with magic existing, and the meds slowly washing from his synapses, he felt almost too sensitive to Eliot's attention; tender, like a bruise. Quentin sighed, recalling how Eliot had looked at him when he arrived earlier, as if he were the only person in the room. What if he lay down now, and fell asleep in Eliot’s bed? It just seemed so warm and welcoming and safe. He wondered, vaguely, what Eliot would do if he found him. 

_Where are you, Quentin? Come down..._

Was that Eliot now, calling him? He should go downstairs. “Mmm,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes open. “I’m coming, Eliot.”

__

Everything seemed so dreamlike suddenly. A shimmering halo surrounded every light, and the mirrors glittered like ice. He could still hear the music and laughter, but muffled, as if from underwater. 

__

He heard Eliot laugh delightedly. 

__

“Where are you?” Quentin asked.

__

_Out here! Hurry!_

__

Quentin opened the door to the cottage and walked out into the night. 

__

_Follow me, Quentin! Follow my voice-_

__

Quentin giggled deliriously, then shivered. “Where are we going, El? It’s cold out here.”

__

_You won’t feel the cold where we’re going. Come on, hurry!_

__

Quentin hurried, then stumbled, his hands catching on rough, wet stone. 

__

“What?” he muttered, and it was as if a spell had broken. He stood, wincing at the pain in his scraped and frozen hands. He was alone, standing on the edge of one of the campus fountains. From its center, the statue of a wolf gazed at him impassively.

Quentin shivered, starting to feel a little scared.

Those magic pastries were not something to mess with. 

__

“ _I’m going to kill you, Coldwater!_ ”

__

In fact, he was still hearing voices. 

__

Quentin turned to start the long walk back to his dorm, when he saw...what looked like _himself_ running toward him, waving his arms and shouting. 

__

“What the hell?” he said, and then a hand closed over his ankle. 

Quentin let out a single strangled yelp before it pulled him down. 

__

Water closed over Quentin’s head. He thrashed and struggled, but whatever had a hold of him wouldn’t let go, and the surface of the pool fell away, becoming a tinier and tinier rectangle of cold, clear light. Freezing hands caressed him now, and wherever they touched, his body went numb with cold. Numbness spread through him. Tendrils of cold penetrated his chest, his lungs, his heart. His limbs felt heavy and frozen. His struggles slowed. He was so tired. 

__

_Quentin, aren’t you tired of fighting? You can rest now. You’re with us._

__

He _was_ tired of fighting. Life was so exhausting. Why couldn’t he even just attend a party like a normal person? He _would_ like to rest. Quentin’s body stilled.

__

Above him, thousands of miles away, he could just make out the moon, tiny and remote and infinitely sad. __

Quentin sighed, expelling the last of his breath. 

__

Suddenly, a sound broke through to him. A voice, shouting something. _Go away,_ he thought. But the voice insisted, urgent and angry, even muffled by water. Then there was a struggle. Strong arms circled his chest and pulled him upward. He pushed feebly against them. 

__

_Just let me rest,_ he thought.

__

But it was no use, and after what seemed like eternity, he was thrown over the side of the Van Pelt fountain and back into the real world. 

__

Quentin retched, then coughed out freezing water, then breathed air into burning lungs. Everything was so loud and so bright. 

__

_Please make it stop,_ he thought, panicking, _I want to go home._

__

The world tilted alarmingly, and Quentin shut his eyes. There was a crash, and then everything went blessedly quiet. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the Physical Kids’ cottage. 

__

The party was over, but a few stragglers remained, talking in muted tones around the periphery. Eliot and Margo, languidly draped over a sofa at the far side of the room, turned to see what the commotion was. Quentin waved at them weakly.

__

“What the actual fuck,” he heard himself say. 

__

Only he hadn’t said anything.

__

“What-?“ he said, and stopped at the sound of his own voice. It sounded deeper. In fact, it didn’t sound like his voice at all. 

__

“Goddamn it, Coldwater!”

__

_That_ sounded like his own voice, but not at all like himself. 

__

Quentin looked up in time to see himself, pale and dripping, rushing at him. Then he caught his own reflection, blinking and befuddled as only Quentin Coldwater could be, in one of the ornamental mirrors.

__

“Oh my god,” said Quentin, reaching up to touch his face. His reflection did the same.

__

But it wasn’t his face. It was Penny’s.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The s4 finale hit me hard and gave me literal chest pains (on the opposite side of my chest from my heart, so you know, this is fine, this is all fine). 
> 
> My headcanon is that Josh commented frequently on magical cooking blogs, and that Eliot would often read those same blogs and comments even though he never realized or cared who the author was.


	2. Like magic but much more dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Quentin and Penny try to adjust to being in each other's bodies. Like you do.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Penny blinked drowsily, half asleep, then shook himself. No. He really, really was not looking forward to putting Quentin’s wet shoes back on and trudging all the back to his dorm, but Eliot was smiling way too softly at him, gazing way too deeply into his eyes. There was some sort of electricity crackling in the air between them, like magic but far more dangerous._

“It wasn’t me!” Quentin said, backing away from his own furious image, his hands held in a placating gesture. “I swear, I just...woke up like this…”

Penny made a disgusted sound and lowered his fists.

“You did not just quote Beyoncé at me,” he said. 

“What?”

“Never mind.” Penny sighed, then shivered violently. Both he and Quentin were sopping wet. 

“Am I seriously shaking right now?!” Penny hissed incredulously as he wrapped his - Quentin’s? - arms around himself. 

“I thought you said you were from Brooklyn. How have you developed _zero_ cold tolerance in your _entire life?!_ ” Penny spat through teeth that had started to chatter. 

Still, Penny-as-Quentin gave off an aura of supreme pissed-offness that was intimidating even coming from Quentin’s body. 

In contrast, Quentin found himself cringing pathetically, trying to defuse the situation. Penny’s body felt damp and uncomfortable, but the discomfort was just that: discomfort, and nothing more. If anything, the mild annoyance helped him focus on the here and now. He could still hear the voices that had led him to the fountain ( _Go on, Quentin, do it_ ), but they were faint. He felt a bit chilly, but he could deal. Attempt to make peace.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, trying to hand Penny Penny’s own jacket, before remembering that of course, it was soaked too. 

Penny rolled his eyes. “Your body is the literal worst, Coldwater,” he muttered, exasperated, but he sounded almost sympathetic now. 

Or did he? Quentin could feel the sympathy, begrudging but real, emanating from his roommate. It contrasted with the scowl and the aggressive body language that were still very much in effect.

He also felt-

“Hey,” said Margo.

She and Eliot were suddenly there, having drawn close to see whatever show the first years had on offer.

Quentin didn’t have to see the look they exchanged to feel their amusement, bordering on high hilarity. 

“What’s up?” Margo said with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing!” said Quentin and Penny simultaneously.

Margo gave them a once over. “You were holding a wet t-shirt contest, and I wasn’t invited?”

“That’s not what we-" said Quentin, “I mean, it wouldn’t be appropriate-” 

“For me to judge?” Margo smirked. ”Honey, I assure you, I am _fully_ qualified.”

“Mm, me too,” said Eliot.

Penny rolled his eyes, then swiped a sleeve under his nose, sniffling. His hands were still shaking. Quentin saw - and felt - Eliot noticing too.

“Q, you’re soaking wet,” said Eliot, reaching to brush a strand of dripping hair from Penny’s eyes. Penny gave him a weird look, then shrugged.

“Yeah, how about that. I accidentally fell into the Van Pelt Fountain, like an idiot,” he said. “Then Penny jumped in and saved my ass.”

“Yes...I did. Heroically. Save. Your ass.” said Quentin, as Penny closed his eyes to spare himself the awkward sight of himself stammering like a dumbass. “And I’m sure you’ll be, you know, eternally grateful.”

Penny grimaced. “ _Will_ I? _Really?_ ” 

“Okay,” said Eliot, who had been watching the exchange with the air of someone who couldn’t possibly be bothered to comprehend it. “Thank you, Penny,” he said, “For saving our little Q here from almost certain death of drowning and exposure.”

“Uh, any time,” said Quentin.

“Please stop talking,” begged Penny. 

“Q,” Eliot said, placing a gentle hand on Penny’s shoulder.

“What,” said Penny, with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine. That’s not how that even works,” Penny said, and promptly sneezed. “ _Damnit._ ”

“Well, humor me, as your esteemed elder who’s intractably set in my ways,” Eliot said with a trace of a smile, and began to steer Penny toward the stairs. “Thanks again, Penny,” he said to Quentin as they departed. 

Margo snorted a laugh when they were out of sight. 

“That boy,” she said, shaking her head affectionately.

“Sorry, what just- ?”

“Eliot,” she said, smiling. “He’s got it bad for little Q.”

Quentin flushed. “I’m sure that’s not true. Eliot’s just being friendly. Like...like a good citizen sort of thing.”

Margo raised an eyebrow. “Really,” she said, and performed a brisk, efficient tut.

And just like that, Quentin was completely dry. 

~~~

“You really don’t have to do this,” Penny protested, wishing, for once, that he could travel anywhere but here. The center of a volcano, maybe. Sure, he’d be dead, but at least he would be warm, and you know, alone. 

“I insist,” said Eliot, maneuvering Penny into a bedroom. “Can’t have you catching pneumonia during your first month here. Very out of season. You should wait until November for that at the very least. Take off your shirt.”

“Um,” said Penny, but Eliot had turned to the wardrobe and was pulling out a cashmere sweater and a pair of gray flannel pajama pants, and oh god, did this body want nothing more than to be encased in all that soft warmth.

“Here,” Eliot said, offering the clothes to Penny. 

Penny accepted them, hands still visibly shaking. God, Coldwater’s body _sucked_. Penny had to get back to himself, and fast. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, burying his hands in the fabric, trying to get them to stop shaking long enough for him to change and get the hell out. 

“Let me,” said Eliot, and slowly, with exquisite care, unzipped Quentin’s tragic hoodie and slipped it off. 

Penny hissed as the air hit his skin, and for a moment he trembled harder than ever.

Then Eliot pulled a soft, dark throw blanket over his shoulders, and he almost swooned at the warmth. 

“Okay?” Eliot murmured into his ear, folding the blanket around him. 

“Okay,” Penny gasped, trying to keep Coldwater’s body from fainting from sheer physical relief. 

“Put those on,” Eliot said, indicating the clothes. “I’ll be right back.”

~~~

“Have a drink,” said Margo, pouring herself a tumbler of bourbon, then offering the bottle to Quentin. 

“Thanks,” he said, thoughtfully. “I think I will.”

“Don’t mind Eliot,” she said. “He’s obsessed with the flavor of the month, but no one ever really gets hurt.”

“Oh,” said Quentin. 

“Or maybe they do.” Margo shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But it’s different with Quentin.” 

“Different how?” Quentin asked, then remembered himself. “I mean, not that it’s any of my business. I don’t care, anyway.” 

Margo smiled. “Of course not. You don’t care about your roommate so much you jumped into a cursed fountain to save him.”

“Wait, the Woof Fountain is actually cursed? I thought that was just a campus legend.”

“Oh, it’s cursed, all right.” Margo widened her eyes theatrically. “It’s bottomless, so it was a popular suicide spot before the faculty got wise and installed magical safety nets. Still, all those dead students. All those unresolved issues. It’s a siren call to psychics. Which is why it was so brave of you to jump in there and rescue Quentin, Penny.”

“Oh my god, the voices,” said Quentin. “That’s what they are - the ghosts in the fountain, they were calling to me - him - us!”

“Uh huh,” said Margo. “Most first years just get a vague warning in the orientation pamphlet, but I’m surprised Sunderland didn’t give you the full deets, since you’re very clearly psychic.”

“I am?” said Quentin.

“Oh, honey.” Margo smiled sadly and took another sip of her drink. “Of course you are. You’re warded up tighter than Eliot’s pants on frosh night. You push everyone away because you can literally feel their pain, and it’s all too much. That’s why you and Kady hit it off so well. You’re both in desperate need of human contact, but neither of you lets anyone get close.”

I shouldn’t be hearing this, Quentin thought. 

“This is, um, kind of a lot,” he said. And then he felt - 

“Speak of the devil,” said Margo, nodding at something over Quentin’s shoulder. 

He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Kady manifested on his - Penny’s - psychic sense like a hurricane. A whirlwind of agitation...anger...longing and pain. 

“ _Kady,_ ” he said, on his feet without even thinking to stand.

At the sound of his voice, Kady dropped off his mental radar even as she approached, all swagger and and sultry smirk. 

It’s a front, he thought. Her wards were back up.

“Hey, stud,” Kady said. “What happened to you? You went off to get food and just disappeared.”

Quentin opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say. The party seemed like ages ago. 

“He jumped in the Woof Fountain to save Quentin Coldwater,” Margo interjected, picking up a magazine to page through. “It’s possible they were both high af. Eliot got a recipe from a third year who specializes in the herbal culinary arts, so some of the treats were magically delicious. Like, inducing profound perceptional changes of space, time, and consciousness delicious.”

"What?" said Quentin.

“You jumped in the Van Pelt Fountain to save that idiot?” said Kady. “The faculty monitors that fountain 24/7. He would have been fine. But you know how dangerous it is for you!”

“I...I wasn’t thinking,” Quentin said. “I think my food _was_ drugged. And the voices - they just wouldn’t stop.”

Something in Kady’s face softened and went sad. 

“Penny,” she said, and put her arms around him. This close, her eyes were the ice green of an Antarctic glacier. Impenetrable, full of light. “You have to be careful, ok? Let’s get out of here.”

“You kids have fun,” said Margo.

~~~

“Here,” said Eliot, handing Penny a glass of something hot. “Drink up. Doctor’s orders.”

“ _I’m fine,_ ” said Penny, and it was for the most part true. 

Eliot’s pajamas were ridiculously warm and soft. Penny had long since stopped shivering, and he could feel Coldwater’s body practically melting into Eliot’s bed. (Who the hell even had a featherbed in 2016? What the fuck, thought Penny.) And while being Quentin physically, well, it sucked in terms of being susceptible to cold and woefully out of shape (was Quentin a secret smoker? Penny felt winded just climbing the stairs to Eliot’s bedroom), it was also blissfully silent. Penny luxuriated in the quiet, aware only of his own thoughts and the sensations of his own - well, Quentin’s - body. 

Right now, Quentin’s body was relaxed and content like he’d never seen him. 

Penny blinked drowsily, half asleep, then shook himself. No. He really, really was not looking forward to putting Quentin’s wet shoes back on and trudging all the back to his dorm, but Eliot was smiling way too softly at him, gazing way too deeply into his eyes. There was some sort of electricity crackling in the air between them, like magic but far more dangerous. 

Quentin’s body wanted this, yearned for this, wanted to breathe in Eliot’s scent and curl into his warmth and offer itself in return. But Penny wasn't Quentin, and he had to get out of here before he did something they both would regret. 

“I have to go,” he said. 

Eliot cocked his head. His gaze was still gentle, even tender. His smile was almost sad. 

“Whatever you say, Q,” he said, tossing a towel over Penny’s head and scrubbing his hair carefully with it. “But finish your drink - it’s just a hot toddy with added ginger, nothing nefarious - and let me dry your hair a bit before you leave. It’s still a bit chilly out, and my reputation as a host would be ruined if I let you die of consumption.” 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the attraction between Q/El, and Penny/Kady is not simply physical, but the physical aspect exists. Soulmates gotta soulmate, but there are a few body swap hijinks to get through first.


	3. Larceny for fun and profit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady convinces Quentin, still in Penny's body, to do a bit of light thievery. This goes better than anyone might expect, actually.
> 
>    
>  _We’re here to steal drugs,” Quentin muttered. “Of course, we’re here to steal drugs.”_
> 
>    
>  _Kady shook her head. “You already have drugs,” she said, which was news to Quentin, if not particularly surprising. “We’re here for the good stuff.”_

Here, worlds away from the noise and the light pollution of Brooklyn, the stars were close and astonishingly bright. Quentin could make out actual constellations, though, as a city kid, the Big Dipper and Orion’s belt were the only ones he’d ever learned to identify. Alone under the stars, something in Kady seemed to uncoil. The urgency with which she had grabbed his hand in the cottage was transmuted into something like exhilaration. As if she were a wild creature that had finally been set free. 

Her mouth on his was warm, electric, _magic_. Quentin could feel the hair on Penny’s arms stand up, could hear the branches on the trees creak and the leaves rustle wildly even though there was no breeze. And holy fuck, their feet weren’t even touching the ground right now, were they? 

Quentin broke the kiss, eyes wide with wonder, and they returned to earth with a thud. 

“Was that you?” he gasped.

Kady laughed and punched him lightly in the chest. “It’s us, idiot. You didn’t notice the last five times?”

“Uh, I was distracted.”

Kady smirked.

Quentin caught his breath. Something about Kady, her fierce, restless energy, made Penny’s nerves sing in a way that quieted all the ambient murmurs he’d been feeling, thoughts and feelings that weren’t his own, a constant psychic tug threatening to unravel the thread of his consciousness. 

It was a relief, but he couldn't do this. This was Penny’s life. 

“I can’t do this...I mean - not that - it’s just...I don’t think this is safe?” he stammered, hands twitching to run themselves through hair that was much too short for the gesture. 

Kady looked at him strangely. “Since when do you care about safe?”

“It’s just...I mean…”

Kady touched his face, surprisingly gently, and peered into his eyes, frowning. 

“Penny, did something happen to you in there, when you jumped in that fountain? Something bad?”

“Sort of...” said Quentin. “I heard voices. I mean, I guess I must always hear voices, but I didn’t know how shut them out. I had to follow them.”

Kady’s frown deepened. She was silent for a few moments, thinking. 

“That’s bad,” she said finally. “But I think I know something that can help you.”

“You do?” said Quentin.

“Yeah, I do,” she said, cracking a grin. “Wanna do something stupid?”

~~~

“Shh! Stay down!” Kady hissed as she pulled Quentin behind a bush. 

He crouched down awkwardly, somehow managing to snag his sleeve on a branch. Kady shook her head. 

“You okay?” she whispered, “You were so much better when we were doing this at the cottage.”

“Fine,” said Quentin, nearly poking his eye out on a twig. “Ow! Doing what at the cottage?”

Kady grinned, her eyes brighter than the stars. “Larceny,” she said. “For fun and profit. Obviously.”

“Wait, what? We’re committing - we’re committing a crime? If we get caught-”

“Shh,” Kady said. “Why are you so nervous all of the sudden? We won’t get caught. We’re old hands at this, remember?”

“Nnn...yes?” said Quentin.

“And it’s for the greater good,” Kady said emphatically, “It’s always for the greater good.” 

“Are you sure we’re not just telling ourselves that to make ourselves feel better?”

Kady rolled her eyes, then motioned to the building.

“Okay, the infirmary is never locked, so that isn’t a problem. What we want is in the magical pharmacy, which is locked. Like, majorly locked, locked down. That’s where you come in.”

“We’re here to steal drugs,” Quentin muttered. “Of course, we’re here to steal drugs.”

Kady shook her head. “You already have drugs,” she said, which was news to Quentin, if not particularly surprising. “We’re here for the good stuff.”

~~~

A few minutes later, they had made their way to the visitors’ lounge unnoticed. Kady grabbed a few pamphlets and handed one to Quentin. He blinked at it uncomprehendingly. “So You Caught Lycanthropy! You’re _Probably_ Going to Be Fine!” read the headline. 

“Lycanth- what?” 

“What are you-? Penny, listen to me,” Kady said, and took his hands in hers. “Remember when you told me you used to sleepwalk when you were a kid?”

Quentin hesitated. This was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be hearing about Penny’s private life or committing crimes while in his body. But this body liked the adrenaline rush, craved it like it craved the heat and pressure of Kady’s hand on his, the feel of her lips, the teasing nip of her teeth. Quentin shivered.

“Yeah...I guess.”

“You used to wake up miles away from home, at the fishing pond, or your mom’s old house. And you’d be barefoot, but your feet wouldn’t be scratched up or bruised or anything.”

Quentin nodded uncomfortably. 

“You said once you dreamed you woke up in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is some serious Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler shit, and also over a thousand miles away from your home.”

“You’ve read _From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler_?” said Quentin, and then, “But why does it matter, if it was all a dream?”

“I’m not _illiterate_ ,” said Kady. “And I’ve been thinking...maybe it wasn’t a dream.”

“What are you saying?” said Quentin.

“I think maybe you can teleport,” said Kady. “Have you ever heard of Travellers?” 

~~~

Quentin blinked into existence in the darkened pharmacy and promptly tripped over a chair. 

“Ow!” he yelped, rubbing his (Penny’s) shin. 

“What was that?” he heard Kady whisper from the other side of the door. “Penny! Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I’m in!” He winced, unseen in the darkness. “I’m in”? Who even said things like that?

“You did it!” Kady said from the other side. “Okay, follow the plan. I’ll keep watch out here.”

Quentin cast a quick illumination spell. He was supposed to be looking for “something that looks like a cross between a nicotine patch and a temporary tattoo, maybe with a bunch of acupuncture needles in it,” some kind of herb (Kady had drawn a picture on a piece of scrap paper), and then, if he had time, any pills he could get his hands on.  


The cabinet doors were helpfully made of glass, so Quentin didn’t have to search long for the acupuncture patches. The herb was giving him a little more trouble. He squinted at the drawing Kady had made for him. It looked a bit like every other herb Quentin had ever seen in his life, from dill to pot to parsley. He squinted at the actual herbs in their colorful glass jars. They also looked, very much, like herbs. 

“Penny!” Kady suddenly whisper-shouted through the door. “Someone’s coming! Travel out! Now!”

Quentin grabbed a random herb and some bottles of pills without looking, and shut his eyes as tightly as he could while he cleared his mind and- 

Nothing happened.

“I can’t! Kady-”

“Shit!” he heard her whisper. “Okay, I’ll buy you some time. If you can’t travel, hide!”

He could hear voices approaching now, female, and then Kady’s voice interrupting them, loudly, insistently. 

He tried once more to travel - it had happened so suddenly before - how had he done it?

The voices outside the door were closer now. 

Quentin cursed under his breath and extinguished the illumination spell as he ducked under a work table. 

The doorknob turned. The lights went on. 

“-don’t have lycanthropy, believe me. It’s actually a very rare-”

“If I could just get tested-”

“Kady, the moon is full right now. If you really were a werewolf, trust me, we would have noticed.”

He saw Kady’s boots make a quick circle as she turned around, looking for any sign of him, or possibly just casing the joint.

“So, if there’s nothing else?”

“Thanks!” said Kady brightly. “No, no there was nothing else.” And she beat a retreat out the door. 

There was a moment of silence after the door closed behind her, in which Quentin’s breathing seemed very loud. And then -

“I swear to god, Pearl,” a woman said, and started rummaging through a drawer. 

He heard an answering laugh, warm with humor. 

“Come on. They’re not that bad, Melanie.” A pair of feet in heels appeared next to the table that concealed him. Their owner boosted herself up to sit on it. 

He recognized that voice. Professor...Sutherland, or something like that. He’d seen her talking with Penny. Had she been in the room during his own entrance exam, when he’d used magic for the first time, creating that house of cards? 

“Ugh, you say that every year. And every year, they’re the worst,” said the first woman. “Ah! Here we go.”

He heard the sound of liquid being poured into glasses and saw, reflected in a cabinet door, the first woman hand a glass of whiskey to Professor Sunderland (that was her name!). It was the doctor who’d given him a perfunctory physical exam when he first enrolled. Professor Lipson. He got the impression she was brusque, no nonsense type.

“You say _that_ every year,” said Professor Sunderland. 

“And every year, I’m right. Cheers.”

The professors clinked glasses and drank. 

“'I think I might have lycanthropy,” muttered Lipson, pouring herself another whiskey. “This is why I drink! Magical medical Googling should be banned, especially for first years.”

“Now you sound like a Librarian,” said Sunderland. 

Lipson made a disgusted sound. “I’m all for self education if they’re not going to be _annoying_ about it.”

A trace of a laugh from Sunderland. Then-

“Hello, what’s this?” A hand - Sunderland’s - reached down to pluck something from the floor. It was Kady’s drawing.

“One of your interns’ lab notes?” she said, handing the piece of paper to Lipson. 

Lipson snorted as she turned the drawing over in her hands. “No doubt. Cannabis viatorem. ‘Traveler’s delight.’ One of our astral projectors must be planning a little out of mind-body experience.” She drained her glass and refilled it again. “Probably Victoria. That kid is bad news, all over.”

Sunderland cleared her throat. “Victoria was one of the third years,” she said quietly.

“Oh yeah. Well, they’re all bad news. Maybe it was that skinny one with the stupid grin. Tim - Todd? - Something? Anyway, it was probably goddamned Fogg himself. That man is a walking failed sobriety test.”

Another muted laugh from Sunderland. “Like we’re anyone to talk. How many Xanax have you had today?”

A snort from Lipson. “Far be it from me,” she said, clinking Sunderland’s glass with her own, “To throw stones from my beautiful glass house. Sobriety’s for muggles, Pearl.”

“They might need all the help they can get.”

“Not if they’re taking it from me.” 

There was a chiming sound. 

“Finally!” said Lipson. “Shift’s over. Time to go to a real bar.” 

“I know a place in New Orleans,” said Sunderland. “Unless you want to portal to Hong Kong again.”

“I’m a lush, not a connoisseur,” said Lipson, cleaning the glasses with magic and storing them with the bottle of whiskey in a cabinet out of Quentin’s sight. “Whatever floats your boat.”

The professors left the room, turning off the lights as they went.

Quentin breathed in, then out, slowly, like his psychologist taught him, trying to slow his heartbeat. 

Then, in the darkness, with the pressure off, he -

Travelled.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fond of both Professor Lipson and Professor Sunderland! I wish they interacted more on the show. Oh well! That's what fanfic is for. In this story, they are friends and coworkers.


	4. You know how this looks, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny (in Quentin's body) is just trying to get back to his dorm room when he runs into a friend. TW - there's some mention of suicide attempts, but nothing bad happens to anyone.
> 
> “Look, my parents have issues. My brother died five years ago, and none of us really got over it. My mother had an affair, and my father threatened to kill himself. And I really, really can’t be the person who’s going to save you, but I couldn’t live with myself if I just walked away and you...if something happened to you, okay?”

The silence was profound. 

Penny found himself standing before the Van Pelt fountain, staring into its inky depths, seeing and hearing nothing. 

It felt blessedly quiet, and also a little bit like he’d gone deaf. It was all still out there: the cacophony of the world’s pain and joy in all its maddening mundanity. He just couldn’t feel it. 

“Are you there?” he murmured.

There was no answer. Not from that old voice, the constant companion that had over the years gone from being a surrogate parent to a playmate to his oldest, most familiar friend, although lately he wasn’t even sure they liked each other anymore. _We are destined for each other, Penny. We’re going to do incredible things together._ That voice was gone now. He was alone. 

Penny exhaled. 

He saw movement in the fountain and jumped back, heart pounding hard in his chest. 

But it wasn’t a ghost or a monster. It was a reflection. 

It was Alice Quinn.

“Quentin, what are you doing?” Alice looked stricken. 

“Nothing...” For a moment, Penny grasped for the right words to say. He felt off balance, as if his ears were still full of water. He hadn’t sensed her approach.

“Quentin.” Alice strode quickly to his side, took his hand firmly in hers, and walked him away from the edge. Her face was pale and drawn. “Listen, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, okay? You’ve proven you have magic, they’re not going to kick you out.” 

“What? No, it’s not that.” Penny had passed the entrance exam in twenty minutes flat. Sunderland told him it was some sort of record. Penny was used to acing tests, but staying in school was another thing entirely. 

Back in Florida, even after he’d learned to shut out his classmates’ thoughts ( _fucking freak; fucking terrorist_ ), being in close proximity to hundreds of other adolescents had made him feel trapped, caged with enemy hostiles the whole damn time. So he tended to not show up for class. He still passed tests with flying colors and therefore had nothing but scorn for the entire system. Brakebills, being a university for magic, might actually teach him something useful. If not, there was a whole world out there. 

“Look, I know it can be overwhelming,” Alice was saying, all the while keeping her deathgrip on his hand. “My brother said he saw it all the time, especially in students who’d never heard of magic before. Brakebills can be a...a destabilizing experience-”

“No, no, wait,” Penny shook his head. 

“I wasn’t at Woof to do anything stupid,” he said, and saw Alice flinch. “I just…” Penny sighed. “I just wanted to see if I could hear anything.”

Alice frowned, but loosened her grip.

“You aren’t a psychic, Quentin. You wouldn’t have heard anything.”

“Right.” 

There was a long pause while Alice looked at him assessingly. Behind her glasses, her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been studying for hours, or crying. 

“Quentin-”

“I’m really okay, Alice,” Penny said, attempting to smile, “Thanks for-”

“Quentin, why are you out here in your pajamas?”

Penny let out a long breath.

“Did you even go to that party? I mean, you know how this looks, right?” Alice sounded agitated now.

How did it look? Usually, Penny could at least get a sense of how he presented to others. He used that to ruthless advantage because the world owed him, damnit. But right now, he had only memory to go on.

He looked like Quentin Coldwater, which meant he looked like an anxious bundle of exposed nerves, all puppy dog eyes hiding from the world from behind his own hair. Quentin’s eternally wounded but eager expression infuriated Penny because goddamnit, sometimes you just had to learn to suck it up and fucking deal. Penny had. 

But he guessed that kind of vulnerability held an attraction for some. Eliot had wrapped his warmest scarf around his neck so he wouldn’t catch cold, all the while gazing at him so softly that something inside him ached and yearned. The brush of Eliot’s fingers on his throat made Quentin’s breath come shallow and fast, so Penny had made some kind of flailing, awkward excuse and bolted from the Cottage into the chill autumn air, where he finally began to feel more like himself.

But he looked like Quentin Coldwater. Quentin’s shoes had been soaking wet, so Penny hadn’t bothered to wear them. His hair was a damp, matted mess, and he was still wearing Eliot’s pajamas. And standing in front of a famous suicide fountain.

“Okay,” Penny said slowly. “Okay, I know how it looks. But it’s not what it looks like. The party was lame, so I left. I was on my way back to the dorm when I saw the fountain, and I’d had a few drinks, so thought I would check it out. It was a dumb idea. I guess I’ll go home now.”

Alice huffed, her expression somewhere between relief and resentment, and released his hand. 

“I’m not sure I believe you.” 

“Believe me!” Penny said. “Look, I appreciate you being a good friend-”

“We barely know each other-”

“- but I’m not your responsibility.” Penny said. 

“No, you’re not.” Alice said, blinking hard. Were those tears? “We barely know each other, and you are not my responsibility, so can you just come with me now, to the infirmary?”

“Whoa, whoa-”

“I have things to do, and I am not equipped to deal with this, and it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, okay?” Alice took his hand again. Her eyes were a piercing and electric blue. “It is not your fault, but it’s not my job, and I just need…” she sighed shakily and blinked back tears. “Look, my parents have issues. My brother died five years ago, and none of us really got over it. My mother had an affair, and my father threatened to kill himself. And I really, really can’t be the person who’s going to save you, but I couldn’t live with myself if I just walked away and you...if something happened to you, okay?” 

Penny hesitated. He hadn’t done anything to earn these confidences, which in retrospect explained a lot. But by the sound of it, neither had Coldwater.

“Okay,” he said. “Look, I know how it looks, and I wasn’t going to do anything like that. But you’re right, it’s not your job to make sure I’m okay. And if it will make you feel better, I will go with you to the infirmary.”

Alice exhaled. She’d been holding her breath. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank _you_ ,” said Penny. “You’re a good bro, Alice.”

Alice almost laughed. 

~~~

“Hmm.” Professor Lipson squinted at him through a lens of colored glass. 

The healing resident had called her in. There was whiskey on her breath, but neither she nor Professor Sunderland seemed particularly drunk. A sedate ladies’ night out, maybe. 

“So, I’m basically okay,” said Penny. 

“Hmmm.” Lipson made a face. “Agree to disagree. These tests show you’ve gone off your antidepressants. Why would you do that? I mean, just look at you.” Lipson's gesture took in the the pajamas, the lack of footwear, and Quentin's general face.

“I was...feeling better?” Penny wagered.

“ _Were you?_ ” Lipson scrunched her face disbelievingly. 

“Quentin,” Sunderland said gently, “There’s no shame in needing medication to manage an illness. You wouldn't judge a diabetic for needing insulin.” 

“O-kay…” said Penny.

“Pearl here once took so much Prozac she developed tardive dyskinesia,” said Lipson. Sunderland nodded in affirmation. 

“Tardive- what?”

“Brakebills can be a shock,” said Sunderland. 

“I’ve worked here eight years, and it’s still a goddamn drag,” said Lipson, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his left arm, frowning at the results. “I mean, it’s better than the trauma surgery game, but still.” 

“Did Dean Fogg tell you you wouldn’t need medication once you enrolled?” Sunderland prodded.

“Uh, maybe?” 

Lipson and Sunderland exchanged a look.

“Look, Henry is a good dean,” said Sunderland. 

Lipson snorted. 

“His heart’s in the right place,” Sunderland continued, to another scoff from Lipson. “But in some ways, he’s a little old school.” 

“Weirdly unprogressive,” Lipson interjected. “And not a licensed healthcare provider, so you should never actually take his advice on medical matters. For that, you come to me. Look,” she sighed with exasperation. “I’m going to renew your prescription. But it might take a while to kick back in. In the meantime, if you ever feel, you know, crazy-”

“Like you might hurt yourself,” said Sunderland, “Or if you just need to talk to someone-”

“Right, that-”

“We’re here for you, Quentin.” 

“Thanks.” Penny rolled his eyes and took the bottle of pills from Lipson. “So, can I go now?”

“Yeah, go,” said Lipson. 

“You’re free to go, Quentin,” said Sunderland. “But please reach out if you need help.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Lipson, handing him a slip of paper. “If you see your roommate, Penny, there’s a note for him from Admin. He's got a call.”

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I don't have that much of a sense of humor, and this chapter has veered into angst. Sorry! I'm working on it!


	5. In all its wounded perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin (in Penny's body) accidentally travels and psychically encounters the Beast, and also Jane Chatwin. Mosaic feels abound. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Home? My dear boy, where is that? You don’t have a home. Nobody wants you, not at that silly school, not even your own family. You’re far too damaged for that. No one understands the wreckage of your heart, except for me. Yes, Quentin, your heart is known to me, in all its wounded perfection. Quentin Coldwater, we could do amazing things together. We could show everyone who’s ever hurt you the truth of what you are. You belong with me._

Quentin flickered in and out of existence, unstuck in space and time. Flashes of exotic landscapes whirled past: the neon lights of Tokyo, the crowds of Mumbai, a blasted city that looked like nothing he’d seen on earth, where the sky was fire and the shriek of a lone bird of prey echoed through scorched and crumbling towers. 

Voices cried out in ecstasy and despair. Quentin covered his ears with trembling hands, but he couldn’t drown them out. The voices were inside him, and he was so close to losing the thread of who and what he was. 

Then, darkness. Stars spun, the constellations alien and unfamiliar. An unseen woman cried out in agony, so close she sounded as if she were right there beside him, but when Quentin turned to look, he was alone. Again, the anguished cry rang out. 

_Help me! Please, help me!_

“Where are you?” Quentin shouted into the void.

_I don’t know! Please! Find me! Help me!_

“I’m trying! But I don’t know how!”

_Please-!_

Then, another voice, polished and urbane, with an undercurrent of such cruelty that Quentin shrank from it. 

_Hello, old friend._

“You’re not my friend.”

 _Oh, come now._ There was a sense of cold, mirthless laughter. _After everything we’ve been through!_

Quentin shook his head. “No, I don’t know you!”

_I see…_

The voice paused, considering. Then-

_Quentin Coldwater! I say, you seem lost, old chap! And not at all like yourself. What a delightful surprise!_

Quentin shivered. “Please, just...leave me alone!” he begged. “I want to go home!”

Another merciless laugh.

_Home? My dear boy, where is that? You don’t have a home. Nobody wants you, not at that silly school, not even your own family. You’re far too damaged for that. No one understands the wreckage of your heart, except for me. Yes, Quentin, your heart is known to me, in all its wounded perfection. Quentin Coldwater, we could do amazing things together. We could show everyone who’s ever hurt you the truth of what you are. You belong with me._

“No,” Quentin said, tears streaming from his eyes. “That can’t be true. Please.”

_Oh, but it is true. You will always belong to me._

The stars spun faster and fell away. Somewhere in his mind, Quentin sensed the presence behind the voice drawing near, reaching for him. 

_That’s enough!_ a woman said. 

The presence pulled back, laughing. 

_Of course, it would be you! Always meddling where you’re not wanted._

He felt the woman scoff. _Leave him alone! It’s not your time yet._

Another rill of cruel laughter. It was not remotely sane. 

_My dear, I have all the time in the world._

_We’ll see about that._

And then.

A sense of unwinding as the stars whirled in reverse and the blood ran the wrong way through Quentin’s heart. He could feel the molecules of his breath undoing their chemical transformation from oxygen to carbon dioxide in his lungs. Quentin felt sick. He closed his eyes against vertigo and an overwhelming sense of wrongness, and tried to hold on to his sanity. 

When he opened his eyes, he was in another world.

~~~

Quentin found himself lying on cool, damp soil, staring up at an eclipse. His eyes were fine. His mind was reeling. 

The moon that passed before the sun was not a round silver coin, like Earth’s moon. Instead, it was a perfect crescent, the grin of a Cheshire cat. 

Quentin sat up gingerly, waiting to see if his existence would hold, or if he would find himself once more ricocheting through strange new worlds. 

Existence held; Quentin stayed put. 

After all the noise and motion, his new surroundings were mercifully tranquil. A cold wind scattered leaves through a neglected garden outside what looked like an empty house. A cottage, really. Tiny, with a thatched roof and a faded blue door. 

Quentin stood on shaky legs and made his way to the door, where he laid his hand on the smooth, worn wood in a prelude to knocking. As soon as he touched it, the murmuring voices went silent. Some piece of his mind that was normally frantic, recursively worrying at all the small terrors of life, trembled and went still. 

“You’re finally off the garden path, I see. That’s good.”

Quentin spun to see an adolescent girl standing by his side. Her clothing was old fashioned, but definitely from Earth. Something about her seemed familiar. 

“Garden...path? What?”

The girl ignored him, instead observing the overgrown garden and abandoned cottage. She did not seem to notice the moon. 

“Ah, here we are,” she said, crouching to brush a cover of fallen leaves from a strange blank plot in the garden’s center.

Unobscured, it was a mosaic of some sort, unfinished or under revision. 

“Here.”

The girl picked up a dull bronze tile and considered it before handing it to Quentin. The look she gave him was heavy with meaning, piercing and unchildlike.

Quentin took the tile, turned it over in his hands. It felt...grounding, somehow more real than anything else in the world. An image flickered to life in his mind. Quentin inhaled sharply.

“A family lived here,” he said.

“A good family,” the girl agreed. 

Quentin closed his eyes and could almost see them: the wife with her heavy coils of hair and laughing eyes, the tiny son with dimpled cheeks who would grow into a young man with the face of a poet. The husband...the husband was an old man who wore glasses. Tall but stooped, he walked with a cane. 

That couldn’t be right. The husband had been young too, surely. Quentin got the sense of a tall, strong figure bouncing a delighted toddler in his arms. He could almost see the younger man’s face, superimposed over the old one, but the image refused to coalesce. Still, every move the old man made was familiar, and loved. Something about his frailty made Quentin’s heart clench painfully in his chest. 

“Did you know them?”

The girl nodded. “They were once kings of Fillory.”

“Fillory is real?”

“Of course, Fillory is real. You’ve always known that. You’re standing in it now.”

Quentin took a shaky breath and looked back at the crescent moon, that sliver of a smile in the sky. A few days ago, he would have given anything to hear those words and believe them. But so much had happened since then. 

“I thought the kings and queens lived in Castle Whitespire.”

The girl shrugged.

“Once a king or queen of Fillory, always a king or queen of Fillory. Even if you no longer wear a crown, it changes you forever. Even after death.”

“Death...They died here? That's sad. Were they deposed? Banished?”

The girl gave him a sharp look, and Quentin shook his head, answering his own question as more images flashed through his mind. The family that had lived in this cottage didn’t give the impression of royalty, deposed or otherwise. Everything about their home, their clothes, and themselves seemed careworn and hand mended. But touched with so much love. 

“No,” he mused to himself, “No, they loved it here. This was their home.”

The girl nodded. “Yes. They were kings of Fillory, but their true home was here. It was the greatest adventure of their lives.”

Quentin’s companion sighed. She had the face and the voice of an English schoolgirl, but her eyes were those of someone much older, someone wise and sad.

“Who are you?” Quentin asked. 

“You know who I am.”

He racked his brains for a moment. “You look like the pictures of Jane Chatwin.”

Jane Chatwin dropped into a mock curtsey. 

“Or the pictures of me look like me. Meanwhile, you look like your friend Penny. But we both know who you really are, Quentin Coldwater, even if you’re very, very far from being yourself.”

Quentin looked down at the tile in his hands, Penny’s hands. “I just wish I knew how to get back.”

“You already have everything you need.”

Quentin sighed. “Is this one of those non-answers that means I have to find the strength inside of me, and if I ever go looking for my heart's desire, I shouldn’t look further than my own back yard, or something?”

“Wrong book,” said Jane. “And no. You’re carrying everything you need in your pockets.”

“Oh,” said Quentin lamely, and felt the contents of his pockets. A handful of herbs and pills and the acupuncture patches he’d stolen from the pharmacy. “Well, that’s...refreshingly literal.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it, what turns out to be metaphor, and what turns out to just be life.” Jane looked wistfully at the mosaic. 

“Wait, is that _the_ mosaic, from the books?”

Jane nodded. “The same. To those who solve the puzzle, it will reveal the beauty of all life.”

Quentin pondered this. “In the books, you didn’t solve the mosaic because it was completed before you came, but it doesn’t look very solved.” Quentin ran his fingers over the bronze tile in his hands. It thrummed faintly with magic. “Could we solve it now?”

Jane smiled and shook her head. “The men who lived here - those once and future kings of Fillory - solved the puzzle for all time. They died having seen the beauty of all life and would not have traded their time here for anything. I will never solve the mosaic, Quentin. It’s not in the cards for me. But it might be for you.” 

Jane took the tile from Quentin and tucked it into Penny’s pocket. Then she reached up and patted him on the cheek.

“You will find your way home, Quentin, to where you belong. I promise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” And then she pushed him, hard.

A blinding light flashed from Jane’s hands. Quentin stumbled backwards. 

And travelled. 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at writing comedy, so here is some more angst and also mosaic feels, because I cannot get enough of mosaic feels.


	6. You're not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny (in Quentin's body) makes a phone call. Alice is a good bro. Eliot goes for a walk. It turns out the Brakebills kids are not as self involved as you'd think.

The payphone connected, the sound of the dial tone loud in Penny’s ear. He hadn’t needed to read the note from Admin to know what the number would be. There was no voice in the world he wanted to hear less. There was no voice in the world he wanted to hear more. 

“Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up,” he muttered, pacing two steps right, then two steps left in front of the payphone, unable to tamp down his nerves. Alice Quinn sat on a low wall nearby, trying or pretending to read a book, too far to hear anything he said but close enough to keep an eye on him. 

“Thank you for looking out for me. I mean it,” he had told her as she walked him from the infirmary to the payphone. “But I don’t need a chaperone. I’ll be fine.”

“I just need to know you get home okay, Quentin. That’s all.” 

Penny sighed, but nodded. He owed her that, at least.

The sound of a receiver being picked up, then slow, labored breathing on the other end of the line. 

“Billy, is that you?” 

Penny could feel Quentin’s stomach twisting inside him, a queasy tightness settling over his chest. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t. 

“Yeah, mom,” he choked out. “I heard you called.”

“Billy,” Her voice sounded faded and far away and a little bit slurred. “I got your letter. You’re really okay, out there in Oregon? Your voice sounds strange.”

“Yeah, it’s a bad connection,” Penny lied. Coldwater’s heart was beating way too fast, way too hard at this deception, and the blood rushing in his ears made it difficult to hear his mother’s voice. He slid down to sit, leaning against the telephone pole, and tried to control his breathing. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, watching out for forest fires. No one bothers me. It’s great.”

“How about you?” He rubbed a hand against his chest, trying to contain his heartbeat. “You’re...good? Taking your meds?”

“I’m not crazy, Billy.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

His mother laughed humorlessly, and the sound, so familiar even after all the years of separation, nearly broke him. 

“You were thinking it. I know.” 

“You really don’t.”

“I know my own son.”

“No you don’t! We haven’t seen each other in five years!” Penny shouted. He saw Alice startle, then look at him with wide, frightened eyes. He shook his head. Tried to take another deep breath. Failed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice. “I’ll send money when I can.”

He heard nothing but static for a long time. Then:

“What makes you think I need money?” Her voice was sharp, defensive. 

Penny sighed. “Oh, come on, mom. I’ve seen how you live.” 

“Money wouldn’t help with that.”

“You know what would help?” His voice was getting louder again, shaking a bit. “Getting back on your damn meds and going to the doctor like you promised.” Penny was appalled to feel tears running down his face, Coldwater’s face. He pressed his hands over his eyes. “You promised,” he whispered.

“You know that wouldn’t help me either.” His mother’s voice was almost inaudible. “Because I’m like you. And I’m sorry, but you’re like me.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

A long pause, then a sigh. “I know where you are, Billy. At that place. I hope they can help you. I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

“Mom-”

“I’m so sorry, Billy.”

“No, mom-”

The line went dead. 

~~~

Alice walked him back to his dorm room. A part of him recognized this for the kindness it was and wanted to thank her, but talking was too much of an effort. He collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. 

“Quentin.” Alice’s voice was taut with concern. 

Penny forced his eyes open and looked at her dully.

“Sorry,” he managed to mutter, just barely. “You can go. I’m all right.”

“I know you’re not.”

Penny wanted to shrug, but he didn’t have the energy. 

Alice sat on the bed next to him and looked around. “Isn’t this your roommate’s bed? Where is Penny, anyway?”

Shit. Coldwater had already been gone when he’d left the Cottage. If he wasn’t here, he could be anywhere. That idiot had crap wards and worse judgement. He might have followed some malicious spirit anywhere, and gotten trapped, or died, and now Penny was stuck in this body forever. 

“Hey! You’re hyperventilating.”

Fuck. 

Sunderland had taught him breathing techniques, meditation techniques. Why was none of that working? Penny could hear a whine starting to creep into his breathing, which was way too rapid, and could feel tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Penny did. Alice’s eyes were huge and grim and determined.

“Okay,” she said, and took his hand and placed it at the base of her throat. “Try and match my breathing, okay? I’ll count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”

“S-seven,” Penny managed. Alice nodded encouragingly.

“That’s it. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

They counted all the way up to forty, then started back at one again. Penny lost track of how many times they did this, but at some point his breathing returned to normal, and his eyes drifted shut. Alice stopped counting, and lowered his hand back to the bed. But she didn’t let go. 

“You’re a good bro, Alice,” Penny murmured, and this time he heard the barest trace of a laugh in return. 

“I learned from the best,” she said quietly. “My brother Charlie was a really great bro.”

Penny felt weighted down, as if his limbs were stuck in tar. But the sadness in Alice’s voice winked like a fishhook, catching in his mind. He forced himself to look at her. 

“I’m so sorry, Alice.”

Alice shrugged and turned away.

He should remember to follow up on this, reciprocate being a good bro. But he was too exhausted to press right now.

“Who was that on the phone tonight?” she said, changing the subject. “Your family?” 

“Yeah, my mother,” said Penny finally. It was taking so much out of him just to talk, but he continued, his voice so soft it felt as if its bones were broken. “She’s crazy. I mean, certifiable. She kidnapped me once, made it across the state border before they caught us and locked her up for a while. And I can’t- I refuse to turn out like her. I’d rather…”

Alice squeezed his hand. “You won’t.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re a fighter. We both are, even if we don’t look it. I know you’ve made it this far, in spite of everything. And I know you’re not alone.”

Oh, god. He had to tell her. She would hate him. He deserved it. How had he let things get so far? 

He’d felt so off balance, so alone. And she’d taken his hand, walked him away from the edge to what passed for safety, and hadn’t let go. She was a good bro. He owed her the truth. 

“Alice.” His voice was almost a whisper. “Alice...I’m...I’m not who you think I am.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. Alice did not let go of his hand. 

“I know, Penny.”

~~~

Insomnia was an old companion to Eliot Waugh. Usually when he couldn’t sleep, he’d wander downstairs, help himself to a finger or four of whiskey from the Cottage bar, and smoke a cigarette while staring moodily out the window into darkness. 

But right now, the warmth of the Cottage felt stifling, almost making his skin itch. Eliot needed some air. So he did something he almost never did. 

Eliot Waugh pulled on his second warmest scarf and went for a walk. 

His mind kept drifting back to Quentin’s face. 

“He’s not _that_ cute,” Margo had said knowingly. Meaning: he’s not one of your usual pretty boys, buff lunkheads, or affected artist types. _So there’s something special about this one. And maybe, just maybe, you’re finally ready for something more._ Margo had Eliot’s number, pretty much, but she had the good grace not to call him on it unless he needed her to. And he didn’t need her to. Not yet. 

So: Quentin often hid his face behind his hair, but it was not an unattractive face. He had a vulnerability, a total lack of artifice, that Eliot was surprised to find quite lovely. Q wore his heart on his frayed, poly-cotton sleeve, and Eliot’s heart beat faster in sympathy. Behind that mousy brown hair, Quentin was a person who was easily wounded, but perpetually wanting to believe...in the world, in magic, in the best of people. 

Eliot had broken hearts before - many hearts - but for some reason he felt - god help him - protective - of Quentin Coldwater. Ugh.

So Eliot had flirted with Quentin, flirted shamelessly, but he had also uncharacteristically taken the time to get to know the high-strung super nerd. Through a few offhand comments and ironic asides, he gathered that even though he didn’t look it, Quentin was a fighter, a person constantly waging war on his own brain chemistry. And although Eliot liked to believe he had long left Indiana, his father, and the death of Logan Kinnear far behind, he knew a thing or two about self loathing too. And so, pseudo-offhand and pseudo-ironically, he shared his truth with Quentin. 

Earlier that night, when he’d poured Quentin’s second or third drink, he could have sworn he’d made an emotional connection. Unspoken, perhaps, but good and true. 

But sometime during the night, the look in Quentin’s eyes had changed. 

His body still responded to Eliot’s touch, posture going boneless and pliant, eyes fluttering half shut, but something in him had closed down. Not like he had sudden doubts, not like Eliot had done anything wrong, but like Quentin himself had no idea what he was doing there, with Eliot, on Eliot’s bed. Like there was somewhere else he wanted to be.

 _What the fuck am I supposed to do with that_ , Eliot wondered as trudged through the campus’s tiny cemetary (which wasn’t nearly as haunted as its fountains).

“Ow!”

There was a crash as Quentin’s roommate appeared midair in front of Eliot, and then fell to the ground at his feet.

“Um.”

“Owwww,” said Quentin’s roommate - Penny, right - curling in on himself and rubbing his shin in a very un-Penny-like way.

“Are you okay,” said Eliot, hesitating a moment before remembering to offer a hand up.

“Yeah,” muttered Penny, as he regained his feet and then hunched back into himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s just been a really weird- Eliot!”

“Penny,” Eliot nodded in return.

“Oh, ah, right.”

Penny reached up as if to push something out of his eyes, then clumsily aborted the motion. 

“Are you...what are _you_ doing out here, Eliot?” he stammered. 

Was Quentin’s roommate...trying to make _small talk_ with him? Hadn’t they all enrolled in magic school to get away from that, at least if there were no cocktails involved? It was 3am, for god’s sake. Shouldn’t these kids be in bed?

“I just...needed some air,” Eliot said mildly. 

“Right, right,” Penny looked away awkwardly and sort of shuffled his feet. 

Eliot sighed. “So you’re,” he gestured vaguely but grandly at the surrounding environs, “Traveling now? Did you just get assigned your discipline, or have you always had the knack?” God, he wished he’d remembered to bring a flask. 

“Um, Kady figured it out. I’ve never. Uh. Traveled before. This was my first time.”

“A virgin. Ok. I hope you had fun, at least.” 

Penny blushed (blushed?) as he and Eliot accidentally made eye contact, and held it for what felt like a strangely long time.

“It was actually really scary? I kept hearing voices, and then this one voice said we could do amazing things together, but I knew it was evil, and then Jane Chatwin was there, and there was this mosaic, and I sort of saw this family, and-”

“Hey, slow down.” Eliot reached out to pat Penny on the shoulder, and found himself gently steadying him instead. “Just...breathe, okay,” he said, deciding to go with it. 

“Eliot,” Penny whispered hoarsely, shivering at Eliot’s touch. "Eliot, it's me."

Penny’s eyes were wide and bright, as if with unshed tears. Unguarded and vulnerable, as if he wanted to believe...in the world, in magic, in the best of Eliot Waugh. 

“Oh my god,” said Eliot. “Quentin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't, as an audience, know much about Penny's past or family. The show references that he grew up in Florida, knows how to fish, and did go to Alabama with his biological mother one time, but it wasn't a pleasant experience. I made up the particulars because fanfic. Woo!


	7. Do you think you have a destiny?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin and Penny are still in each other's bodies. The gang is clued in, so hopefully someone comes up with a plan. There are some feels and some mosaic magic. When switching bodies, please do so responsibly!

“What the fuck, Penny?!” 

Kady slammed through the door, her right hand wielding a saucer of blue flame. A locator spell.

Kady looked around the dorm room, taking in Penny and Alice’s gawking expressions and the complete absence of anyone looking like Penny. She extinguished the spell. 

“Stupid thing,” she muttered. “Sorry. I could have sworn it told me Penny was here.”

“I am,” Penny said.

“He really is!” Alice affirmed.

Kady narrowed her eyes. 

“I’m so glad to see you, Kady,” Penny said, and somewhere beneath the mind crushing exhaustion, he meant it. But Coldwater’s voice came out an expressionless monotone, flat and unconvincing.

“If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny,” Kady spat. “You _know_ Penny’s a psychic, and he risked his life _and his mind_ saving you tonight. He’s been hearing voices ever since, and now I can’t find him anywhere. If something happened to him-”

“Kady-” said Penny.

“And what are you doing in his bed?” Kady said disgustedly. “Gross.” 

“Kady,” Alice said softly. 

“What?” Kady was clearly at the end of her patience. 

Alice’s mouth twitched as she hesitated, but then she shrugged and plunged on. 

“This _is_ Penny,” she said, face scrunching up at how ridiculous it all sounded. “I don’t know how, but somehow he and Quentin switched bodies.”

Kady snorted. “No way.”

“It’s true,” Penny said, reaching a hand out to Kady. “It’s all true.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Tell me something only Penny would know.”

Penny sighed and looked at the ceiling. 

“Your wards are airtight. And you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“You never told me anything about _yourself_.” Kady pointed out, without heat. 

“I was able to put a couple of things together, though,” Penny continued. He was so very tired, but he had to make her understand. “You know about battle magic, but you never told me why. And I get that -- everyone’s got a past. I know I do. You told me this place was a gold mine, but you let me keep the Emerson’s Alloy we stole so I could protect myself. Because you care, Kady. More than you want to let on. You called me a mindslut.” 

“Penny,” Kady breathed, then shot a hard look at Alice.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Alice said, meeting her gaze levelly. “I’ve got my own shit to deal with. And I know there’s no such thing as safe magic. I’ve...I’ve got a past too.”

Kady glared at Alice for a long moment, then exhaled and nodded. She turned back to Penny.

“What the hell happened? To make you-” she gestured distastefully at his general Quentin-ness. “This?”

“I’m not sure...” he murmured. “We were at that party, and I left you for a few minutes to get some food, which I’m pretty sure was drugged or enchanted or something, because the next thing I knew, I was following myself to the Woof Fountain, but it turned out to be Coldwater, in my body.” 

Penny stopped for a moment, then shook his head. 

“Remember when I told you I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid?”

“But it was actually teleportation, wasn’t it?” Kady said. 

Penny nodded. 

“I _knew_ it.”

“Right,” Penny said, “So now that Coldwater is in my body, he teleported us back to the Physical Kids’ house. And then Eliot…” Penny frowned, “Sort of came on to me, thinking I was Quentin, and I lost track of actual Quentin-”

“ _I_ ran into Quentin,” said Kady. “Ugh, I kissed Quentin, because I thought he was you! That little creep! I’ll kill him.”

The gears ground to a stop in Penny’s head. 

“What?” he said, a flicker of anger breaking through the lethargy. “Jesus Christ, _I’ll_ kill him.” 

Kady snorted. “Not your place, dude. _I’ll_ kill him.”

Alice grimaced. “Yeah, I really have to go with Kady on this one.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” said Kady.

Alice nodded in sympathy. 

“Okay,” said Penny. “Okay. Not that it’s any excuse, because it isn’t, but I think Coldwater might have been a little overwhelmed. He’s not used to hearing voices all the time.”

Kady and Alice exchanged a look. 

“You’re right,” said Kady. “It’s not an excuse.”

“It really isn’t.” Alice agreed.

 

~~~

 

“I need to find Penny,” Quentin babbled. “No, wait, I need to find Kady. Oh god, I _kissed_ Kady. She’s going to kill me. But she said she might know how to stop the voices, and I really-” he took a long, shuddering breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I really need to stop the voices. They get so loud, Eliot. I can’t think. I feel like I’m losing my mind. It’s scary. I don’t know how Penny does it. Like, no wonder he’s such a dick all the time.”

Eliot had led Quentin to sit on the base of an ornate sarcophagus (Eliot had to respect the Brakebills founders for their commitment to being extra, even in death), and had been gently rubbing Quentin’s back as he listened to his story. Now, Eliot paused, his mind stuck on a single detail.

“You kissed Kady?”

Quentin grimaced. “Yeah...It all just happened so fast, you know? This body still reacts like Penny would. To...uh...stimuli.” He sighed. “But I know it wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have stopped it.”

Eliot hummed in agreement. “I mean, Kady’s an attractive girl, but-”

Quentin shrugged. “Yeah, she’s objectively amazing, but I’m not normally attracted to her? She kind of scares the crap out of me.” He paused, considering. “But she’s actually way more complicated - and nicer? - than she lets on. I mean, until she realizes I’m me...”

“At which point, it’s been nice knowing you.”

“Yeah.” Quentin sighed. “I mean, I kind of deserve it.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eliot said, because it was true. “Anyway, _speaking of the very important matter of consent_ , it wasn’t you I brought up to my room earlier tonight?”

Quentin gulped. “What? No. Jesus. Augh. Jesus.”

Eliot sighed. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened.”

“Thank god. I mean, not that...I mean...”

“What, Q?” Eliot’s gaze was penetrating. “What do you mean?”

Quentin sighed and shut his eyes, slumping against Eliot in exhaustion. Against his eyelids he saw swirling stars, a cloud of moths, Jane Chatwin looking at him sharply. A half finished mosaic, a pretty young woman offering him a basket of peaches and plums. A toddler shrieking delightedly as he bounced in the arms of his young father. The father - the husband - turning toward him, hazel eyes shining with joy and love. 

“Q. _Q_. Are you hearing voices now?”

Quentin felt himself being shaken and opened his eyes to see Eliot, whose eyes were wide with concern. His hazel eyes.

Eliot.

Quentin stared at Eliot, whose forehead was furrowed with worry. He could see where laugh and frown lines would crease his skin in twenty or thirty years. He knew, somehow, what Eliot would look like when he grew old. 

A woman’s voice in his mind, like a memory. _Do you think you have a destiny?_

Quentin shivered. “No,” he whispered. “I haven't heard them since I went to Fillory.”

 

~~~

 

Penny closed his eyes, barely following the conversation as Kady and Alice talked strategy. He knew, rationally, that they would figure this out. But he still felt trapped and strangely blank, his emotions blunted and dull. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t psychic anymore and couldn’t travel. Coldwater’s body was heavy with fatigue and a relentless feeling of hopelessness. Penny wanted to be angry about this, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. No wonder that nerd was always such a drip.

“Penny. Penny!” Kady was shaking his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he managed. 

“Are you okay?” Alice sounded tense.

“Not really,” he muttered. 

Kady and Alice exchanged a worried look. 

“We have got to get him back to normal,” Kady said. 

Alice nodded. “I think I know something that might work. I’ve been working on…” She broke off, blinking hard. “Well, I’ve been working on a spell to call a lost spirit back home. I’ll need to modify it a bit, but it should work.”

Kady frowned. “What, like a summoning? Those never end well.”

“This would be different,” said Alice defensively. “Since everyone we’re summoning is still alive.” 

“It doesn’t feel like living,” Penny muttered. 

Kady tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Okay. We’ll get you back, whatever it takes.” She turned back to Alice. “This had better work.”

“It will.” Alice looked nervous. “Now we just need to find Quentin.”

“That’s not a problem,” Kady said. “The locator spell works, as long as you know what you’re looking for.”

“Right,” said Alice. Then she paused. “Where did you learn how to do a locator spell, anyway?”

Kady shrugged. “I know things.” Her tone was challenging. 

“Right,” said Alice again. “Okay.”

There was a long, tense moment of silence. Then Kady relented. 

“I’m staying with Penny,” she said, tossing the saucer to Alice. “You go find Quentin so I don’t kill him while he’s still in Penny’s body.”

“Thank you,” Alice said, and meant it.

Then she muttered a few words in a foreign language and ignited the spell.

 

~~~

 

“Fillory?” Eliot felt in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. “As in...Fillory?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Quentin said. 

“It kind of does,” said Eliot, as gently as he could.

“But, I mean, magic is real. We’re in a fucking school for magic, so it’s hard to tell what is and isn’t crazy anymore, okay?”

True enough, Eliot supposed, inhaling a steadying lungful of nicotine and considering the situation. Once you knew to look for it, Quentin’s...Quentin-ness was just so fucking obvious, even coming from Penny’s body. It was weird how not weird it felt. Might as well just accept that Fillory could be real too.

“And I met Jane Chatwin there, and she gave me this.” 

Quentin fished in his pocket and produced a bronze tile. He handed it to Eliot, his gaze fraught with an emotion Eliot couldn’t quite read. Was it hope? Fear? Or something else?

“Ah,” Eliot said, taking the tile. It felt curiously heavy in his hand, and it practically vibrated with magic both older and more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. Also-

Eliot inhaled sharply as images appeared before him. A cottage surrounded by forest. A tile mosaic. Quentin, long hair tied back, sitting next to him on a patchwork quilt, hope and firelight flickering in his eyes as he leaned forward, clumsily, for a kiss. A pretty young woman dressed in homespun, holding out a peach. A toddler, heavy in his hands, laughing with joy as he tossed him into the air. Quentin, older, worry lines around his eyes, and his hair long, so long, as he sobbed alone on a rickety wooden bench-

Eliot dropped the tile with a clatter.

“What was that?” he gasped.

“Fillory,” said Quentin. “You saw it too?”

Eliot shook his head in wonder and fear. 

“I saw _you_ ,” he said.


	8. Something to hold on to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny really does not enjoy being in Quentin's body. Kady takes the high road. Eliot needs a drink.

“I hate this,” said Penny. 

Coldwater’s voice was muted, dull, just like how everything felt in Coldwater’s body right now. The lights in the room were too bright, leaching the color out of the world. 

Why hadn’t he noticed before how ugly this room was? Institutional and tacky, it recalled suppressed memories of a trailer in Clearwater, beige Formica sticky with instant coffee and Florida humidity, the rattling of a half dead air conditioner making even sleep exhausting. Penny closed his eyes.

“It does suck.”

“Kady,” Penny forced himself to open his eyes and focus on Kady’s face, which was tight with anger and worry. She was so fierce, so alive. So ready to fight. 

_I think I could love her._

The thought came unbidden, floating to the forefront of his mind, seemingly unconnected to any emotion. Just a random thought, surfacing suddenly on the sea of apathy that threatened to overwhelm him. 

_I think I could love her._

The thought was there, and just as quickly it was gone, leaving him grasping for something, anything, to anchor himself. 

“I’m here.” Kady’s grip on his hand was so tight it was almost painful. And Penny welcomed the pain, because at least it felt like something. 

He squeezed her hand in return, hoping that some of that strength, that fire, would flow into him. It didn’t. But it was something to hold onto. 

“I really do not feel great,” he said slowly, “In this body.”

Kady half laughed. “It’s definitely...not a great body. You’ll feel better once you’re back to being you.”

Penny sighed. He remembered his own rage and passion and self pity as if they were part of a story that had happened to somebody else. Everything felt so empty and pointless, even though he knew, intellectually, that it should be over soon. But it wouldn’t be over for Coldwater, would it? This was his life.

“I’m pretty sure it’s no picnic for Coldwater either,” he said softly. “Lipson said he went off his meds because Fogg told him he wouldn’t need them, but I can tell you right now, that was a bad idea. Lipson gave me a refill, but she said it could take some time to make a difference. I don’t know if I can do this for much longer. But I don’t know if Quentin could either.”

Kady frowned as she swiped the orange plastic bottle from the nightstand and examined the label. 

“Shit,” she said. 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” Kady tapped her fingernails on Quentin’s pill bottle, thinking back over the night. “Okay, our first priority is still getting you both back to your own bodies, because you are definitely not okay, and I don’t know if being stuck as a psychic is great for Quentin either. When I ran into him before, he was kind of freaking out about hearing voices and not being able to stop them. I sent him to the infirmary pharmacy to steal something that could help, but Lipson and Sunderland walked in on us. I’m pretty sure he got away, but I kind of lost track of him after that, which is why I busted in here with that locator spell.”

Penny blinked slowly, not quite sure he was following the plot. “You sent _Coldwater_ on a burglary job?”

Kady shrugged. “I thought he was you.”

“Right.”

“He actually didn’t do so terribly,” Kady mused. 

“Huh,” Penny said flatly.

Kady brushed Quentin’s stupid, floppy hair out of Penny’s eyes. 

“Not as amazing as you would have been, obviously. Absolutely no chill under pressure, not punk at all. I would have figured it out eventually.”

“Thanks, Kady.”

“I get it, okay,” Kady rolled her eyes. “I won’t kick a man when he’s down.” She paused. “I might punch him in the face, though. It’s kind of my thing.”

This time, Penny was able to smile. 

~~~

 

“Me?” said Quentin, frowning. “Was I in Fillory? What was I doing?”

 _You were crying._ Eliot thought. _Like your heart was broken. I wanted to hold you. And...I think I did?_

“I don’t know where it was,” he said slowly. “Outdoors somewhere. You were older, I think...Your hair was _really_ long, Q.” 

_Not a good look,_ he almost said, but he knew, suddenly and acutely, that every overlong, scraggly, unconditioned hair on that vision of Quentin’s head was deeply and heartrendingly dear to him, and the words stuck in his throat. He felt a twinge of actual pain just thinking about it. He cleared his throat and shook his head to banish the image.

_\- of Quentin, tired after a long day’s work of...something?...leaning into him as they sat on a patchwork quilt under the stars. Quentin, clinking a metal cup of some sort of home brewed spirit with him. Quentin, making a soft, yearning, irresistible noise in his throat as he leaned forward, clumsily, for a kiss._

Eliot pressed his palms over his eyes. _No,_ he thought, viciously trying to force back his feelings, even as his heart ached for that version of Quentin, ached to reach out and draw him in, to return the kiss, deeply, tenderly, fully. _That’s not me, and that’s definitely not him, not when he has a choice._

“Huh,” Quentin said, oblivious to Eliot slowly, excruciatingly dying next to him. 

“I think...I think I saw you too.” Quentin laughed, a little brokenly. “You were wearing glasses. They weren’t even fashionable.”

“Huh,” said Eliot, parroting Quentin’s earlier response. If Q got to be all straight boy clueless, unknowingly twisting the knife in Eliot’s heart, Eliot could pull off basic nonchalance, thank you very much. He had a - how would Quentin put it? - he had a black belt.

Quentin nodded vigorously, socially awkward as ever, which looked so strange coming from Penny’s body. 

Eliot shook his head. He was in way over his head, and he knew it. He needed help.

“Let’s go back to the Cottage,” he said, slinging an arm around a startled Quentin’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to your body.”

Quentin looked confused, an expression which under any other circumstances would look hilariously out of character on Penny’s face. 

“I think Penny went back to our dorm room?” he said, pointing over his shoulder. 

“Yes, but I need a drink, and _we_ need Margo Hanson.”


	9. It's a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well_ ,” said Margo. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” 
> 
> In the doorway stood Alice Quinn, breathlessly determined and brandishing a flaming locator spell.

Quentin really wished that Margo would stop laughing.

It had been at least ten minutes, and every time it seemed like she was starting to slow down, Margo would take another look at Quentin’s increasingly reproachful expression (a foreign look on Penny’s face), and burst into another wave of laughter. 

Eliot shrugged sympathetically at Quentin - _What are you gonna do?_ \- and took a long sip of whiskey. “Now, Bambi-”

“They swapped bodies?” 

“Yes, all right, we swapped bodies!” Quentin huffed. “It isn’t that funny.”

“Mmm, _no_ , it is.” Margo, still chortling, batted Eliot’s arm, “Hey, remember that time - what was it, second semester-?”

“Second semester freshman year,” Eliot agreed.

“When we did that shapeshifting spell and switched places for a week?”

“And hilarity ensued,” Eliot smiled fondly at the memory. 

“Guys,” said Quentin as Eliot and Margo grinned at each other, lost in reverie. “Can we maybe focus a bit here? This really isn’t fun for me, and I don’t think Penny’s enjoying himself either. We don’t just look like each other. We’re _literally_ in each other’s bodies. Constantly teleporting without being able to control it is _kind of fucking terrifying_ , but somehow being psychic is even worse. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I...argh...”

Quentin fidgeted agitatedly for a moment before seemingly coming to a decision. With a small growl of frustration, he faced Eliot with a gaze that was both pleading and defiant.

“Look...before I got here, I was in the hospital. My brain...breaks sometimes, ok? So I don’t feel super confident I can deal with hearing voices all the time. I just…” he shook his head in desperate, helpless refusal. “Eliot. Please. I can’t go back.”

“No, Q, of course not-” There was a moment of awkward hesitation before Eliot reached out, gathered Quentin in, and held him. Quentin exhausted, sagged into the embrace.

“Shhh. You’ll be ok, Q. We won’t let that happen,” Eliot said softly. 

He found himself making meaningless noises of comfort as he held Quentin even tighter. Margo looked on, stricken. “ _Sorry_ ,” she mouthed through a grimace. Eliot nodded helplessly. 

Penny’s body was not prone to the dull heaviness that Quentin carried throughout his life. Instead, Quentin felt as if a livewire animated his heart and limbs, which vibrated with a furious, strung out energy even though the crushing fatigue. It was all just so much, suddenly. Quentin felt like he either needed to punch something or to cry. 

Quentin buried his head deeper into Eliot’s shoulder and started to sob. 

“I’ve got you, Q,” Eliot murmured, “It’s gonna be ok.”

The touch of Penny’s hair felt strange on Eliot’s throat, the texture wrong somehow. Eliot closed his eyes and recalled his earlier vision: Quentin, older but achingly familiar, crying as he was crying now, leaning into Eliot, taking comfort from his touch.

In his mind Eliot heard a rustling, like autumn leaves on stone. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it.” Margo whispered. She patted Quentin softly as she left to open the door. 

~~~

“Well,” said Margo. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” 

In the doorway stood Alice Quinn, breathlessly determined and brandishing a flaming locator spell. Her eyes and spellwork burned with clear blue fire. 

Margo felt a thrill. So this was the charged, dangerous thing that Alice walled up behind that miserable expression, the stacks of books she held like a shield against the world. Margo had always known there was _something_ beneath that brittle facade, something wild and barely contained, something with claws and teeth. _Finally_ , she thought. _Someone interesting_.

“Here for the party? Everyone’s gone home, kitty cat,” Margo paused meaningfully and licked her lips. “But that doesn’t have to mean the party’s over.” 

Alice flushed and broke eye contact. “I’m looking for Quentin. It’s important.”

“Too bad,” Margo drawled. “I won’t say I’m jealous, because I love that boy dearly, but I was kind of hoping you’d come to let your hair down.”

“Of course not!” Alice said too quickly, and winced. “I mean, maybe next time. I really-”

“I look forward to it.”

Alice made a small grunt of frustration, much to Margo’s delight. She’d never managed to get such a rise out of Alice Quinn before. 

“Look, Margo-”

“ _Alice_.” Margo smirked, then stepped aside from the door. “Come on in, take a load off. Catch your breath. I’d have Eliot make you a drink, but-” she hesitated. 

In the adjoining room, just out of sight, Eliot and Quentin were clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it, and she really did have to figure out some solution to the whole Quentin and Penny body swap situation. In a minute. 

“He’s otherwise occupied.”

Alice heaved a great, long suffering sigh and stepped over the threshold. 

~~~

“Look, it really is urgent.” Alice extinguished the locator spell with an impatient wave of her hand. “Penny and Quentin. They-”

“Drink?” said Margo, handing her a glass of prosecco. 

Distractedly, Alice grabbed the glass and drained it in a single gulp. Margo, both impressed and amused, raised an eyebrow. 

Alice blushed a lovely delicate pink.

“I was thirsty!” she said defensively.

“I’ll say.” Margo refilled Alice’s glass and poured a drink of her own. “Cheers.”

“I ran all the way here.” 

“I’m flattered.”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Alice rolled her eyes, but the alcohol was already loosening her up, taking the edge of the expression. “I used a locator spell to find Quentin. I know he’s here. I have to talk to him.”

Margo sighed dramatically. “‘Quentin, Quentin, Quentin.’ Now you really are making me jealous.”

“It’s not what you think! He and Penny are in danger. Ugh...It’s a long story.”

“Let me guess, you’re here because our little Q got into some sort of magical trouble and accidentally swapped bodies with, say, his cute psychic roommate, and neither of them is adjusting very well.”

Alice gaped. “You knew all this, and you invited me in for a drink like nothing was wrong?”

Margo shrugged. “Quentin and Eliot are taking a minute. And honestly?” Margo reached out and pointedly ran her fingers over Alice’s hair, which was still dishevelled from her run. Alice started at the contact. “You looked like you could use it.”

There was a long tense moment as Alice fairly quivered under Margo’s touch.

Margo traced Alice’s mouth with her gaze and ran a few lines through her head: Try on this dress I have. It’s made exactly for those assets you’re hiding under that pilgrim tent. Nah. Or how about: I’m hot, you’re extremely hot yourself. What say we take this party someplace a little more private?

Then Alice’s lips quirked up on one side, a wry half smile. 

“What are you doing, Margo?”

“What do you want me to do?”

Alice pursed her lips and blew a stray strand of hair from her face. 

“I want you to help me get Penny and Quentin back to being themselves. Penny’s not doing so great, and I can’t imagine Quentin is feeling much better. After that…” Alice shrugged. “I’m not...adverse to partying.”

Margo made a comically skeptical face. Alice rolled her eyes.

“Quietly?” Alice amended. “And maybe in the library instead of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Margo, thrilled, seized Alice by the arm. “It’s a date!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I even doing at this point? Is this a complete tonal shift and also a waste of a trope? Maybe. But what can we do


	10. 8 hours earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If vest guy was what Quentin needed to break him out of his never-ending cycle of low self esteem bullshit, then Penny was team vest guy all the way. Because Quentin was the kind of guy who never appreciated his own good fortune: an Ivy League education; a loving father smiling indulgently if not enthusiastically from photographs displayed on Quentin’s side of the room; a best friend who still cared enough to leave frequent messages; magic. Quentin was the kind of person destined for an unremarkable life of quiet pleasures and mild disappointments. What Penny wouldn’t give for a life like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember that party from way back in Chapter 1? Here it is from Penny's POV. Additional trigger warnings for drug use, child abuse (psychic psychological abuse of a child by an evil supernatural entity), drug use by a child, parental negligence.
> 
> Sorry I haven't updated or answered any comments in a while. I appreciate them so much, though! Life and work are time consuming. Yuck.

_8 hours earlier_

“You will never have a home. You will never have a real family.”

“Fuck that noise,” Penny muttered as he paced the length of his dorm room, which was otherwise empty, thank god. He didn’t think he could bear for Coldwater to see him like this, sweating and manic, unable to keep still if it killed him.

“Your gifts will take this from you. Over and over.”

“ _Shut up._ ” he hissed at the absent Sunderland, who earlier that day had broken down the plot of, well, his entire life. Fuck her and her excruciating kindness, the soft, pitying look in her eyes. 

He needed to hit something, break something, punch his fist into the wall until the pain in his body drowned out the noise in his head. He grabbed one of Coldwater’s stupid fantasy books - a mass market paperpack, not a first edition, he wasn’t that much of a dick - and threw it blindly. Fucking fantasy novels. Always promising you a magical escape into another world. Penny was pretty sure he had been to other worlds, and they were no escape. There were no heroes. There were no good guys. There was no ragtag team of flawed but ultimately redeemable rogues coming together to fulfill an epic quest, returning home in triumph, becoming a family along the way. 

Penny didn’t need a home. He didn’t need a family. The one he had left behind was enough of a goddamned mess. 

“You’ve been a thin layer of insouciance over an open pit of self-pity your entire life,” Dean Fogg’s reproval echoed through his mind. 

“I have enough voices in my head without having to listen to yours, old man,” Penny spat as lunged for the dresser, reaching for what he had hidden behind the topmost drawer. 

His hands shook as he spilled the cocaine on a mirror, cutting it into broken, messy lines. There was no need to be neat. There was plenty more where that came from. 

“This is not a joke,” the Dean admonished. “You do not have the luxury to mess around now that this is out of the bottle.”

“ _Well, we can’t unring that fucking bell now, can we, old man?_ " Penny muttered, and snorted the first line.

“Uhhh...” He grunted in relief as the back of his throat went numb, cooler than cool, ice cold. 

He could feel his heart rate speeding up: thud-thud, thud- _thud, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud_. The voices in his head mercifully quieted, drowned out by his racing heartbeat and the sensation of blood rushing through his veins. Don’t think, he told himself, and snorted another line. What was the point in ruminating over just how completely fucked his life was and was always going to be? He’d rather-

“Penny!”

The door slammed open, and there was Kady, all that beauty and swag barely containing the coiled energy of fight or flight. Her wards were impenetrable. He never even felt her coming. 

Her gaze flickered to the mirror and the last stray grains of coke. And Penny was years past being defensive, knew he didn’t owe her anything. But somewhere beyond the euphoria, deep in his gut, he felt ashamed.

Then Kady shrugged. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey,” Penny answered numbly. 

“No roommate?” Her voice was way too casual. He appreciated it. 

“Out playing Dungeons and Dragons or some shit.” 

Kady sauntered to the desk and sat on it, looking down at him. “Just you and me, then?”

“Yeah,” Penny grinned, the cocaine still making his nerves sing. “Just you, me, and the voices in my head.”

Kady’s eyes narrowed, expression amused but guarded, sussing out whether or not he was being ironic. Was he? Signs pointed to both. What a fucking life.

“Wellll,” she drawled. “If you want to take a break and listen to terrible music and dumb gossip instead, there’s a party going on at the Physical Cottage.” She pulled a card - a literal playing card - from her pocket and held it up to his face.

“‘Feel the Love,’” Penny read incredulously. “‘9pm - The Cottage - Let’s Get Physical.’ Jesus wept. How corny can you get?”

Kady laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. But I know for a fact they’ve got some top shelf liquor in that joint. Plus maybe a bunch of magic shit for us to steal. Could be fun.”

Penny grinned. It definitely sounded better than sitting with his own thoughts for the night.

“Yeah,” he said, all synapses firing as he pulled Kady down from the desk and into a kiss. “Let’s do it.”

~~~

It was a pretty good party, all things considered. 

The skinny, overly eager kid on door duty waved them in, no questions asked, when Kady flashed her playing card-slash-invitation. 

“And this is our party’s signature cocktail!” he said with dorky flourish. “It’s called a ‘Down the Rabbit Hole’!”

Penny eyed his glass with distaste. “Why is it green?” 

“Um...maybe it’s mint?” their host ventured. “Eliot’s pretty big on mint, and...muddling?” 

Penny and Kady exchanged a look.

Door kid took a sip, then shook his head. “Midori!” he said triumphantly. “That’s like, a melon-based-”

“I know what Midori is,” said Penny, rolling his eyes. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He handed back his glass. 

“No prob, there’s plenty of other-”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” 

Midori tasted too much like high school. Like Mountain Dew and the nausea of that first cocaine crash. Of a young punk, a newly minted Penny Adiyodi, suddenly and recently tall, stewing in adolescent hormones that had finally made him big enough that no one would mess with him but in return made his bones ache at night and his heart angry, so angry, furious at everyone all the time. 

Penny exhaled heavily, found the whiskey. 

Door kid bobbed his head. “Right! Excellent choice, my man!”

“Say...what did you say your name was?” Kady’s voice was balm against door kid’s grating enthusiasm and whatever new wave abomination was now playing on the sound system. 

“Oh, sorry! Todd. I’m Todd.” Todd eagerly held a hand out for her to shake. 

“I think there are some people over there who really need your help,” said Kady, not taking his hand. 

Todd’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! Of course! I’ll just...be going. Over...there.”

Todd took himself across the room to fuss over some students playing a drinking game that involved reciting spells in various dialects, taking a drink whenever anyone screwed up. They were all very, very drunk. 

“Damn, girl. You are cold-blooded.”

Kady laughed. “It’s what you like best about me.” 

“Truth,” said Penny, although the reality was much more complicated.

She poured them both a shot of fancy scotch. It tasted expensive, like smoke and brine. God, the Physical Kids were all such snobs. 

Penny grabbed a beer. 

“Shall we?”

It was late enough that everyone was too drunk to notice them rummaging through cabinets and shelves. And Kady was really, really good at this. Penny knew better than to ask “What’s your story?” But it was clear she had a story. Something complex, with twists and turns, danger and heartbreak.

No one learned to close their mind so completely unless they were hiding from something, even if that something was only themselves. _That_ was what he loved most about Kady: her opacity. The depths upon depths he couldn’t begin to decipher. The worlds behind her eyes that were wholly unknown to him. Like she could be anyone, and so could he.

Being with Kady made him feel almost normal. 

Before long, they had amassed a small pile of magical artifacts and books between the two of them. 

“Hmm, this is a good one,” Kady said, dangling an unimpressive looking pendant from her fingers.

“A crystal, huh? Want me to read its aura? Psychics can do that.”

“Shows what you know, mindslut,” said Kady teasingly. “This is an Emerson’s Alloy. Good for protection from magical assault.” She hung the pendant around Penny’s neck. 

“What, do I look like I need protection?” he said with mock offense. 

“Everyone does,” Kady replied, "At one time or another." For a split second she looked tired and a little bit sad.

“Thanks,” said Penny finally.

Kady shook her head, shaking off the mood. “Sorry, I didn't mean-”

“No, really...thanks.” Penny rubbed a hand over the amulet. It felt warm under his fingers. “Hey, are you hungry? I’m gonna go look for some food.”

“Sure,” For a moment, Kady looked like she was on the verge of saying something more, but then she shrugged, smiling again. “I could eat.”

~~~

“EAT ME” read the banner over a table of finger foods, and Penny rolled his eyes. Jesus, if he never went to another themed party in his life, it would be too soon. Playing cards and and mirrors littered every surface. _OK,_ he thought. I _get_ it. _Fuck_.

He caught a glimpse of his mousy roommate talking to someone over by the main bar. Quentin, flushed and animated by alcohol, was definitely making eyes at some dude in a vest, and vest dude seemed very appreciative of the attention.

Huh. Well, way to go, Coldwater, Penny thought, absently popping some sort of fussy herbed pastry in his mouth. 

If vest guy was what Quentin needed to break him out of his never-ending cycle of low self esteem bullshit, then Penny was team vest guy all the way. Because Quentin was the kind of guy who never appreciated his own good fortune: an Ivy League education; a loving father smiling indulgently if not enthusiastically from photographs displayed on Quentin’s side of the room; a best friend who still cared enough to leave frequent messages; magic. Quentin was the kind of person destined for an unremarkable life of quiet pleasures and mild disappointments. What Penny wouldn’t give for a life like that.

But still Coldwater could never manage to be happy. It was infuriating. 

Fuck. Penny took another swig of his beer. Maybe Coldwater’s maudlin tendencies were rubbing off on him. He needed to get his head back in the game. Find Kady, sneak into one of the empty bedrooms, make their own afterparty. Stop thinking. He grabbed a plate to get some food for Kady and was hit by a wave of vertigo. 

Laughter. Colors bleeding into the air. Time dilated. “ _Are you okay?_ ” someone said, and it was a disembodied sound, a record playing on the wrong speed. 

Everything was so bright and so loud. Somewhere a glass broke, and he heard each individual shard as it hit the floor like a bomb going off in his head.

“Kady,” he gasped, and lurched from the room, falling into darkness.

~~~

The memory that came was something out of time, a brief but unexpected reprieve: a sick day. 

Seven years old, in bed with the flu. Prior to adolescence, Billy Adiyodi had been small for his age, sickly and skittish, with a weird sixth sense for when a punch was coming and when to duck. Lately he’d been getting headaches, hearing voices with painful volume and clarity, like his classmates were always shouting at him even when their mouths were shut. 

Every morning he begged to stay home and every morning his mother would feel his forehead, roll her eyes, and drag him to school anyway. He was the smallest kid in third grade, already with a reputation for being too smart for his own good. So Billy Adiyodi learned not to cry. It never did any good.

This time he really was sick, coughing until he could barely breathe and so feverish he was seeing things, hearing things that weren’t there. Voices of people who weren’t in the room. A vision of his grandmother, dead these past two years. _I’m sorry, Billy,_ she said. _I never wanted to leave you like this._ Billy buried his face in the couch to hide his tears, the cushions rough against his overheated skin. Everything hurt. 

Billy Adiyodi knew he was a _weak little bitch_. He wished he were strong enough, tough enough, to stand there and not flinch, to take a punch, or better, to dish some out. Someone who would never cry, no matter how badly he was hurt. Oh god, how everything hurt. 

Please make it stop, he thought and maybe even said out loud, as his mother sighed and turned down the volume on the old movie she was watching. It helped a bit. All the actors spoke in that old-fashioned movie style, overly enunciating their lines in a way that made his head ache. Otherwise, the story looked pretty boring: a black and white movie about a farmgirl who dreamed of a better life. As Billy drifted off, she began to sing a song about a rainbow. 

_Billy!_

Someone was calling him. Billy woke slowly, painfully. It took his eyes a long time to focus. His mother was dozing in front of the television. Another movie must have come on while he’d been asleep. This one was saturated in Technicolor so bright he had to squint, all reds and blues and yellows that hurt his eyes. 

“There’s no place like home,” somebody said.

A sense of playful laugher. _Well, thank heavens for that. Home can be such a disappointment, can’t it, Billy?_

Billy turned his head gingerly, looking for whoever had just addressed him. But there was no one, just his mother, asleep at the other end of the couch. Maybe it had been a voice from the television. It sounded like a television voice. It even had an accent, like from those PBS mystery shows that weren’t very interesting. On the screen, the farmgirl - was it the same movie after all? - the farmgirl was back in her black and white life, and the volume on the television was turned down low. Billy realized suddenly that the volume on everything was turned down low. The world, the pain in his head, all felt muted somehow. The relief was profound.

_Feeling better?_

Billy nodded. He opened his mouth to answer and started coughing instead.

His mother stirred at the foot of the couch, and Billy stifled his coughs in the sleeve of his mismatched pajamas, sweat breaking out on his face at the effort. 

_Dear me! Still under the weather, it would seem. Poor thing. I know something that can help._

“What?” Billy asked a moment later, after he caught his breath. 

_Why, medicine of course, my young friend. To cure what ails you._

“I took some already. It didn’t help.” Children’s Tylenol syrup, a spoonful of sticky sweetness that couldn’t begin to disguise the underlying bitterness. It had made him retch, vomiting up the small amount of Campbell’s soup he had managed to eat for lunch, leaving a chemical aftertaste that burned in his mouth even now. 

_Oh dear, nothing like that. Real medicine. Your mother hides the real medicine. It’s behind the top drawer of her dresser, all the way in the back. Go get it, and don’t tell anyone. It will make everything better._

Billy pushed weakly at the ratty blanket that covered him. It felt heavy and damp. Everything in Florida was always so heavy and so damp. The effort left him dizzy.

“I don’t think I can.” His chest felt tight, full of phlegm. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t.

_Tsk, tsk. Well, that’s all right. I’ll let you in on a secret._

Billy closed his eyes. His head was starting to hurt again. 

“What secret?” he whispered. 

_You’re a very special boy, Billy._

“I am?”

_Yes, so special, you can fetch the medicine without even moving. I can show you how, as long as you promise to keep it a secret. Only very special people have this talent. It wouldn’t do to tell anyone, ever, about what you can do._

“I promise,” Billy breathed. He would do anything if it meant the pain would stop.

_All right. I’ll show you. It might hurt a bit at first, but you must keep silent, or I won’t be able to help you. Can you keep absolutely silent, Billy?_

Billy nodded, then flinched in sudden pain. But he clenched his jaw and endured it, his shallow, pained breathing the only sound. In his head, he saw an image of his own hands, contorting through a series of gestures almost like a dance. 

_Can you do that?_

“I...think so…”

Billy moved his fingers in an approximation of what he had seen. He was clumsy at first, his hands stiff, his joints sore. It took him several tries, but then-

He felt the dresser drawer open, felt his mother’s secret pills hidden behind it in a small, plastic pouch. He felt the pills rattle as he opened it. 

_You’ll only need one. They’re very strong, and you’re still very small._

Billy nodded, his face a mask of concentration. He slipped a single pill free, then closed the pouch and replaced it, and slid the drawer back into its slot. The pill floated toward him, wobbled a bit, then made it the rest of the way to drop into his shaking hands. 

_That’s it. It will make you feel better, Billy._

Billy turned the pill over with his fingers. It was so small and unassuming, seemingly inert. 

_Go on. Take it. There’s a good boy._

Billy swallowed the pill. He wished he had some juice to wash it down. His throat was sore. 

_That’s all right. Why don’t you go back to sleep for a bit? You’ll sleep for a good long time, and you’ll feel so much better when you wake up._

Billy did feel sleepy. Floaty. His head really didn’t hurt so badly now. 

“Ok,” he said, his eyelids fluttering shut. He forced them open. “Wait.”

_Yes?_

“Who are you?”

Again, that sense of laughter. 

_A friend, of course, little Billy!_

“How do you know my name?”

_Well...it’s because I’m special too. We’re two of a kind! And you’re the one who called me here. Don’t you remember?_

“No…” He hadn’t, had he? He couldn’t remember. Everything seemed so far away. 

_You asked me to make it stop, so I made it stop._

He had said that, hadn’t he? 

_We’re going to be great friends, you and I! Now go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. If you don’t, well, at least you know where the medicine is now, don’t you? When you wake up, everything will be different._

The voice began to hum a soothing song, a lullaby. Billy felt immediately and overpoweringly drowsy. His mother had never sung to him like this in his life. 

_A-hunting we will go  
A-hunting we will go_

He was so tired, and the voice was so comforting, so soft. 

_We'll catch a fox and put him in a box  
And never let him go_

Billy fell asleep. 

When he woke up, everything was different.


End file.
